Psykhe: Biography
· Name: Psykhe · Age: 47 (Appears to be 17) · Birthplace: Brink of the Celestial Plane · Race: Cherub · Spoken Languages: Common · Personality: Psykhe is a rather playful yet mischievous cherub whom seems to take a rather carefree approach to life. Compared to other cherubs he is considered to be an enigma due his looks and lack of desire to serve and please the gods of the Light Pantheon. He does not appear to be very trusting of anything considered to be “pure” or normal and so takes to treating anything with an oddity much like he would a small pet. Despite his childish qualities he has rather solemn moments that show most of the cheerful idyllic façade is but a mere act. · Story: Psykhe’s first memory of life was that of great joy and great pain. He remembered walking through a sea white blinding light that blanketed everything as far as his eyes could see, an omnipotent powerful aura that crushed and pressed against his the newly compressed energy that made up his rapidly constructing body, and scalding hot oppressive heat that caressed not so much his skin but more like his senses. And then there was the cold. The warmth and nurturing feeling, the airy happy glow was suddenly cut off. Life a sword across his being he was suddenly cut off from what he instinctively knew was creating him. And he fell. Rapidly swirling, spiraling out of control into a deep darkness that sucked the warmth from his being. His first words were a never ending soul wrenching screech that echoed back to him through the blackened abyss as a dark burning pain ran through his being, undoing and altering all that the light had begun to create and icy coldness stabbed at him. When he thought he could take no more he blacked out. His second memory of the world was waking. He awake in a field of dead but thriving brittle grass with the gnarled remains of trees towering over him. He’d been devoid of single stitch of clothing, the clammy hot lands caressing his oddly full human body. He looked about for a single soul, for direction, for he had an instinctual belief that he was supposed to seek guidance and order from someone. However, not a single soul greeted him. No life could be felt for miles in his vicinity, and so he felt alone and abandoned. Without a defined path to take Psykhe spent the first twenty years of his life roaming the grounds of No Man’s Land stumbling upon mutated creatures that would often attack him as he would fight back, feasting upon their bodies on occasion but more often than not he would claw away at dirt and grass barehanded till he had a nice sizeable hole and burry the body. He was unsure of why he did such a thing. He never felt remorse for the creatures that had come after him, but it was as though some small part of him was still guided by what he didn’t understand. It wasn’t until his 25th year of being, that Psykhe had stumbled upon a Tuil. The creature had come after him much like the rest of the other creatures he’d passed by all these years however, in the ending moment before the elf was to take his life, it pulled back. Unable to discern the meaning of the look in those mad eyes were Psykhe scrambled up to his feet trotting after the creature who spared his life. The elf clothed, educated and cared for Psykhe over the next decade telling him of his nature though intrigued by his blackened wings and hair, and the odd demonic-like tail that sprouted out from his tailbone. Psykhe happily recanted his first and second memories of life and though it bore no meaning to the Tuil it took it upon itself to care for the cherub as an odd semblance of family. Psykhe lived those 10 years in bliss as he followed at the heel of the creature. Not every day had been peaceful however. The elf seemed to have odd moments of rage and madness much like Psykhe had encountered upon their first meeting. Occasionally the elf would lash out at him beating him but always right before dealing what seemed to be the final blow he would pull back, and the cherub would follow him faithfully. One day Psykhe woke from his slumber feeling oddly cold. He gazed around for his comrade but found the patch of grass where he’d laid down hours before empty. Feelings of abandonment slowly crept up into his chest as he ran calling out to the other, hoping that he’d merely gotten up to feed for the elf needed sustenance much more often the Psykhe did. Just as the fear odd being once more alone was about to wash over him he saw something hunched over feeding from the carcass of some vastly mutated beast. Thinking it was his friend Psykhe rushed towards him but the creature that turned to him, blood caked over its face, entrails dangling from its mouth bore no resemblance to his caretaker. He took off away from the scene the creature instantly taking chase. Unable to fly high enough to escape its grasp and staying just mere feet ahead of it Psykhe soon came to a crag, the gap far too wide for him to jump or fly over. The creature stalked him slowly, and just as it lunged in for the kill, Psykhe throwing his arms up over his face in defense, there was the swift whoosh of air and the thud of a large body landing. In Psykhe’s hands were a small black and white bow and arrow. The white rapidly tingeing rose pink. He looked over to the creature and there it lay dying, an arrow through its chest as its body was rapidly changing, getting smaller, almost reverting back to another state. Taking the chance to go closer to the creature the sight that met his eyes was one of great sorrow and shame. The beast was his elf. Having further mutated beyond recognition he’d been losing his mind and in his last sane effort to spare Psykhe he’d run. Much like he’d done in his early years Psykhe began to dig a whole right next to the elf’s body. Once it was big enough he buried the man, pushing the dirt back over him and laid wistfully on top of the mound unmoving for 5 years. One night during sleep Psykhe dreamed of his friend. The elf told him to move on, find others within the land that had some semblance of intelligence for Psykhe was destined for more than just mindlessly wandering the forsaken land. Vanishing in a blinding light the Tuil moved on to the Beyond and Psykhe cried his first and last tears.